


Sickdays Day 4: Not the Norm, Vol. 2

by occasionalspiderfiction (SemiRetiredAuthor), sickficlurker (SemiRetiredAuthor)



Series: Original Sickdays [3]
Category: Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: (not a focus but it's a thing), 5+1 Things, Bad Decisions, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fainting, Food Issues, Gen, Hiding Obvious Needs, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia, Peter Parker's Frankly Ridiculous Metabolism, Vomiting, emeto
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-15
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:54:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14303253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/occasionalspiderfiction, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SemiRetiredAuthor/pseuds/sickficlurker
Summary: AKA 5 Times Peter Struggled with Spider Metabolism, +1 Time Tony Helped.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There's no traditional eating disorder in this fic, but if you might be triggered by someone avoiding eating out of guilt, please avoid this one. Also, this isn't a continuation of my first Not the Norm fic; it's just the same prompt taken a different direction, and I wanted the titles to be slightly different to make them easier to distinguish at a glance.

I.

No matter how long he practiced limiting his meals, Peter never could quite get used to the gnawing hunger or the bone-deep weariness day in and day out.

This was the right thing to do, though. Aunt May didn’t deserve to suffer over his excessive appetite, not when it meant she’d have to take on more hours at work and go without simple luxuries to come up with the kind of budget he probably needed. As it was, they were living almost paycheck to paycheck. It was bad enough that May couldn’t even hide it anymore… but it wasn’t like he would keep it from her if he was actually starving or anything. Sure, he was ravenous most of the time he was awake, but he was handling his responsibilities and life in general perfectly well, so it wasn’t affecting him. He was doing just peachy.

He only knew he had a higher basal metabolism in the first place because money hadn’t been an issue when his appetite suddenly spiked after the bite. Uncle Ben hadn’t been pulling in a high salary by any stretch, but it had been plenty to support the family with a good amount left over every month. Their grocery bill had gone up then, but his aunt and uncle didn’t complain even once, stressing that a growing teen needed to eat plenty and occasionally reminding him that it was nothing to be ashamed of.

They’d struggled more after Uncle Ben… wasn’t around anymore. The savings account could only last so long, and when they were nearly through that buffer zone, his aunt had had to pull herself together through her own grief and depression to pick up a second part-time job and return from her sick leave at her old job. That was when he’d started his “diet” of sorts. He couldn’t take seeing May struggle through sixty- and seventy-hour work weeks to net less money than they’d ever had, and he had to do what he could to minimize his impact. He even took on odd jobs after school and over some weekends to buy extra meals on his own dime, but the kinds of jobs that would hire a fourteen-year-old were few and far between and weren’t the most pleasant to say the least. He’d gotten used to getting by on three normal-sized meals most days and treated any exception as the amazing opportunity it was, a chance to finally feel sated for a few hours.

It helped that he had decathlon practice after school three days a week and their fundraising projects covered plenty of snacks during training. Ned would often laugh at the veritable mountain of food Peter could cram on their tiny paper plates and let him go at it otherwise uninterrupted. He made sure to clear his schedule to help out with every fundraiser—even though they officially only _had_ to do one or two each month—to make up for all he took.

He’d gotten used to scheduling his patrols based on his food access. It was a simple process, really. Spider-Manning was a breeze when he could eat to his heart’s content, so he’d log as many hours as he could on those days. The day immediately after wasn’t _as_ easy, but it was still doable, and he found he could go three or four hours as long as it wasn’t too intensive and he squeezed in a break every half hour or so. After two or more days without eating so much, it wasn’t worth patrolling. The lethargy weighed him down and made him inattentive, and he could only handle an hour at most before he was desperate for a nap or an extra meal that May shouldn’t have to pay for. It put a damper on his Spider-Man efficiency, but he just used those days as productive Peter Parker days by focusing on less intense activities like homework and practicing for decathlon. The struggle was there, but he was keeping it together… until he wasn’t.

The first time he acknowledged that _maybe_ , just maybe something was wrong, he woke up with a pounding headache and a stiff neck… and he was _not_ in his bed. That was the easiest conclusion to come to. He was laying on his stomach somewhere cold and hard, so maybe he managed to roll off his bed and onto the floor. He’d had some rough nightmares for a while after Ben’s death during which he’d thrashed around enough to toss his sheets off the bed, but never himself before. The weird part was that they’d gotten a lot better by now, waking him maybe once a month.

Something still niggled at his senses… It was too cold. May never kept the thermostat this low; it may be pricey, but she always said it was worth the extra cost to stay at a comfortable seventy degrees in their own home. He paused to think about it—though his tired mind protested thinking about much of anything—and thought he must have forgotten to close his window. His theory was solidified by the sounds of the cars and people rushing by. Too loud, loud enough to prickle at his sensitive hearing and not muted by the thin glass as they should be. But something still wasn’t right… He could smell fresh pizza even though he’d been nine the last time they’d lived close to any pizza places, and… no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember settling into bed to go to sleep. He couldn’t even remember getting home after his unplanned patrol earlier. He’d meant to go home immediately after school, but he’d run into a mugging on the way home and couldn’t just walk on by. He remembered handling that, not feeling up to doing much more, and changing back into his street clothes and then… nothing.

Things weren’t adding up, though he felt like he should be drawing a conclusion roughly now. He braced his hands to push himself off the floor but shuddered with an undignified yelp when his left palm slapped into a shallow puddle of something. His eyes shot open while he yanked his hand back and shook off the mystery liquid, no longer content to block out his senses, and he realized this was _not_ his bedroom. It was a narrow dark alley he didn’t recognize.

He allowed himself a solid few seconds of confusion before he realized with a shiver that he didn’t know what time it was and it was dark. He concentrated on picking through scrambled memories and mentally walking through the past day until he gathered what had happened.

He’d been walking home from school with Ned. They hadn’t had decathlon today, and it had been four days since he’d had the chance to eat very much, but he felt relatively okay, maybe just a little worse than he should when they’d walked a couple blocks.

He distinctly remembered actually drooling when they walked by a Chinese restaurant. Ned had noticed and laughed. He didn’t have extra cash on him, and he’d snapped at Ned without meaning to when he suggested dropping in, so he’d had to apologize and lie about May planning some special dinner with a new recipe that she didn’t want him to spoil so Ned would drop the idea. Ned always forgave easily, and the conversation had drifted back to assignments and anecdotes about the separate parts of their school days as they trudged on. Peter had waved goodbye with a wide smile when they split off at their usual point.

Talking to Ned had kept him distracted enough to not pay too much attention to how he felt, but he was a little dizzy by the time he was on his own. That was a bit concerning out of the blue, but it wasn’t like it never happened before. It was a once or twice a day occurrence recently much to his frustration, but he was used to it. He’d even successfully hidden the feeling in gym class a couple days, so it couldn’t be anything major.

He’d been pushing through it because he was only a few minutes away from home and he could have some time to sit back and relax there… except it hadn’t been a routine trip straight home. He’d overheard a mugging in progress and swooped in after wrestling his way into the suit. It hadn’t taken much effort, but the dizziness was unquestionably worse after he’d finished webbing the guy up, leaving a note for the police, and swapping his clothes again in another alley. He’d really thought he could make it home from there, but now he remembered the dizziness suddenly kicking up another notch and making him come to a dead stop in the middle of the sidewalk. He’d had to stumble into yet another alley after a few pedestrians shoved him out of their way. He must have actually passed out after that, but— _crap!_ May was definitely home by now and wondering where he was. He felt crappy enough. He didn’t need to deal with her suspicions that something was going on with him today too. It was getting harder and harder to hide his extracurricular activities from her even now that he was five months into it.

After spending a mystery amount of time unconscious on the pavement plus another few minutes awake and confused while piecing together the afternoon, it was a struggle to push himself until he was sitting against a wall. His vision swam at the exertion, but focusing on taking deep breaths while he fished through his backpack for his phone fixed the problem and he could see again. He tapped at the power button, but the screen stubbornly remained black, which made perfect sense. _Parker luck strikes again._

Should he go home from here? He probably wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he was still a little shaken, and it was hard to make decisions for himself at the moment. He’d never passed out as Peter Parker before. He knew the feeling from a couple patrols where he took more hits than he could handle as Spider-Man, but this was… different. He was just as alone when he was Spider-Man, but this didn’t feel the same somehow. It was more… personal, more unsettling. Actually, thinking about it, anything could’ve happened while he was out cold. He was lucky no one with the wrong intentions had stumbled upon him.

It was probably too late to check in with Happy, and he’d barely patrolled anyway. Plus, the guy hadn’t responded to even one of his texts or voicemails in the month since they’d met. Why would it be different tonight, especially for a non-Spider-Man problem? It made more sense just to go home. He still had to cram a night’s worth of homework into however much time he had left before he needed to be in bed. Although… this was like sleeping, right? He could probably swing staying up an extra hour or two tonight. He had to fight off another bout of dizziness when he stood for the first time in… half an hour? Half a night? …but soon enough he was on his way home.

He made a beeline from the front door to the fridge without even tossing his backpack aside and grabbed the first thing he saw, practically inhaling the cold leftover spaghetti. Logically speaking, it wasn’t good; the originally overcooked noodles had become semi-hard overnight, and the sauce was more reminiscent of a hard tomato crust on the pasta rather than the paste it used to be. To Peter’s starvation-addled brain, it was the best meal he’d ever had. He actually moaned in delight, then froze at the sound of a giggle.

He relaxed with a grin when his sluggish brain processed that it was just Aunt May. It must be after seven if she was home. A furtive glance at the microwave confirmed that he’d managed to stay out until nearly half past eight. May finally brought her giggling under control, but the good mood clung to the apartment and made the room seem lighter.

“Someone’s hungry!”

“Yeah,” he admitted with a laugh of his own. He found himself bringing a hand up to push his hair out of his eyes. “I forgot to grab a snack before I went on a walk earlier.”

May would only worry if she knew the truth, and it was easier to lie when he was the first to bring up the topic. Still, he couldn’t completely shake off the guilt that burned in his stomach the rest of the night.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

Ned didn’t take long to notice something was maybe not quite right with Peter, though not for lack of trying on Peter’s part.

He’d been shaken after his impromptu nap in the alleyway, but he’d recovered without much hassle. He’d made it home safe and convinced himself it wouldn’t happen again. He even did some online self-diagnosis to help understand what had happened. There had been a handful of common causes listed for fainting, but he was near certain it had happened because he hadn’t eaten enough that day, which had led to a blood sugar drop after he’d stretched himself too thin. As long as he stuck to a more complete, energy-dense diet, it shouldn’t happen again. And yeah, he couldn’t eat as much as his spidery side would like to while Aunt May was footing the grocery bill on her own, but he knew to pay better attention to his health and had an idea of which warning signs to watch out for after that wake-up call.

Armed with his new knowledge, Peter no longer mistreated his body due to simple ignorance or by choice. He’d taken the time to budget out every cent that Aunt May set aside for him to eat, focusing on getting the protein and complex carbs that would help him stretch his calories further without hurting his energy levels.

Peter had taken down his first major bad guy, the Vulture, and in the process Ned and May had discovered his identity. He’d thought it would be worse, more stressful, if anyone found out, but actually life had gotten easier with more people in his corner. Things had been going pretty well until May lost her second job.

Suddenly, they were short all the money they’d had from her part-time retail job. Aunt May had joked before that it wasn’t much in exchange for the hard labor she put in during those additional twenty hours a week, but there was a clear difference in their living situation now. They finally bit the bullet and May called to cancel the TV and internet service; a neighbor had offered to share his Wi-Fi with them in exchange for paying a small portion of his bill, so that hadn’t been too hard a hit. For the long-term, they were also looking at cheaper apartment options together at the kitchen table more often than before, but again, that wasn’t too big a deal. He was already pretty far from Midtown, his friends, and the compound, so it wasn’t like they might be moving away from somewhere that was convenient. He’d miss the short walk to Delmar’s, but he could still catch the subway if he wanted to drop in.

The real kicker was May reconsidering the food budget. In the interest of not worrying her, Peter had never shared many details about his post-bite self with his aunt. She’d caught him in the suit and knew about his vigilante identity, of course, but she didn’t know much about his powers, experiences, or metabolism. He’d worked over the logic in his mind often enough, jumping through endless hoops and _what ifs_ in his spare time. If she wanted to know about the powers, she’d ask him, and she hadn’t. She’d been more focused on convincing him not to use them as Spider-Man at first than anything else. She definitely didn’t need to know about his experiences in the suit. She freaked out already after gleaning what she could from the news, and a _lot_ of his activities and their aftermath didn’t make it to the paper or the evening TV programs. He’d debated the metabolism issue a couple times since she’d discovered him. It affected his civilian self, but… it wasn’t like May could really do anything about it. They weren’t making enough for her to deal with quadrupling the cost of their food, but if she knew about this, Peter knew she’d do something unfairly self-sacrificing to help him. That was just the kind of person May was. He needed to take more of the burden on himself so she wouldn’t have to step up like that. Apparently, now he’d have to do that while skipping three lunches a week to stay in their new budget.

That was what led him to the current moment, sitting at his usual lunch table and gazing longingly at the slowly dwindling lunch line. It was Wednesday, and he had two lunches left this week. He _could_ buy one today if he really wanted to, but he thought it would be nice to eat on both Thursday and Friday so he could have plenty of energy for his Friday night patrol. Fridays were always the busiest and most fulfilling nights. It sucked when he had to miss one, so he did his best to avoid it.

He hadn’t meant to stare at the line for so long, but he must have slipped into a daze without meaning to because the crack of Ned’s tray against the table startled him enough to make him jump.

“Dude, you’re not eating again?” his friend asked. They were best friends, but money was an awkward topic sometimes. Ned had grown up never wanting for much; you could almost call him spoiled. Peter, on the other hand, had been through plenty of tight periods even with Uncle Ben around. They’d lived paycheck-to-paycheck more often than not. The topic had always been a little difficult for them, so he normally tried to hide any money issues from Ned, but he’d been slacking this week, too exhausted and stretched too thin to put effort into hiding his life from someone he loved.

“Oh. Yeah. Money’s a little tight,” Peter admitted. He hoped Ned would assume it was a temporary situation that would be fixed next week. It wouldn’t, but it would be a little better if he didn’t have his best friend’s pity thrown on top of it all.

Ned didn’t even give him a chance to respond before he was sliding his tray across the table and leaping back to his feet.

“Here! Mom and Dad aren’t home this week, so they left me extra spending money again. Gotta get back in line before they stop handing out lunch, though. Be right back!”

Peter’s protests died on his lips as Ned purposefully sprinted away into the crowd where he wouldn’t be able to hear Peter. He felt himself blushing, but he shoved it down with the knowledge that no one around them was paying enough attention to notice he couldn’t afford his own lunch.

He started picking at the fries on Ned’s tray and was wholeheartedly going at the cheeseburger when Ned returned with a fresh tray. He wasn’t ready to meet his gaze yet.

“Thanks, man.” He was quiet, but he saw Ned smile and knew he’d heard.


	3. Chapter 3

III.

Peter had gone through three attitudes toward handouts. As a child until some point in middle school, they were a nice surprise, and he would take full advantage by enjoying as much as he wanted guilt-free. Then in his preteens, something—he couldn’t even remember what it was now—but something made him stop and realize that _someone_ was paying for everything that was supposedly free. He didn’t let that stop him from partaking, but he cut back his portions a lot and would stick to one small serving of any food he was offered.

That attitude lasted until a couple weeks after Uncle Ben died and the constant hunger kicked in. After that, thanks to the spider bite, he was often hurting for a good meal and so he went back to indulging in free food when he could. The only difference was that now he couldn’t do it without feeling guilty about it. He’d try to silently feel out a room, being as sure as he could that he wasn’t screwing anyone else out of their share. Embarrassment had become a factor at some point too. He hated drawing attention to himself when he was stuffing inhuman amounts of calories down his throat. He’d forced himself to stick to smaller portions at decathlon events and in school especially while Liz was leading the team in fear of making himself look gross or weird in front of his crush, but Liz had moved months ago and constant hunger drove a man to new lows he could never imagine. Nothing much was left to stop him from gorging himself at the back of the room until he was completely satisfied with not even a hint of hunger remaining in his stomach full of budget appetizers and off-brand sodas.

This time, he’d apparently overestimated himself and he was regretting it. It wasn’t long before his contentment morphed into more of a quiet discomfort. Overeating didn’t take very long to catch up with him these days, and now he felt uncomfortably full. It _had_ been awhile since the last time he’d had access to a Spider-Man sized meal because of several back-to-back scheduling conflicts on compound weekends, but he’d been sure he hadn’t overdone the portions here, so it was slightly concerning that something he could usually handle was too much for him now. His stomach grumbled loudly in protest against the sudden influx of food after days of being limited to two unenhanced-person-sized meals; he resisted the urge to grumble along with it. He’d been excited for the competition and the chance to see Pittsburgh with the team, but now he just felt gross and wanted to leave.

He wanted nothing more than to curl up into a ball alone and sleep off the discomfort of way too much food settling in his stomach, but decathlon was a necessary priority. It was his best chance of standing out from other scholarship applicants in a couple years, a way to look like more than just another perfect GPA like most everyone else who would be applying. Plus, some weeks, it was the only reason he got to see Ned or MJ outside of school at all.

It was a mark of MJ’s powerful glare that he didn’t break away from the team for the cat nap he so desperately wanted before the competition began. He and Ned tentatively called MJ a friend, but he didn’t know how long she’d put up with him if he kept blowing her off for seemingly no reason. It was bad enough to do it because of Spider-Man, but to upset her over his own stupid decision to stuff himself silly? No, he couldn’t. As much as decathlon meant to him, MJ took it at least twice as seriously, and that was probably still understating it.

The minutes dragged on while their hosts finished the last-minute bits of the setup. As the scheduled time grew ever closer, he tried to convince himself it was just nerves bothering him, but he’d never been anything but excited about decathlon before, so it was a hard lie to swallow. He couldn’t deny the cold sweat and the lurch of his stomach when their team was given the signal to step onto the stage and take their places. He just hoped he didn’t make too big a fool of himself or the team.

He couldn’t have been more thankful that he made it through the match (and they won!) with minimal outward issues, but no sooner than it ended, his stomach finally lost its battle against the veritable buffet he’d scarfed down and he dodged Ned’s celebratory bro hug in favor of running to find what little privacy he could before his protesting stomach made a huge mess.

Ned was the one who came to find him after he could get away from the rest of the team. Peter hurriedly cleaned himself up with a couple napkins to avoid worrying Ned, but it didn’t help much in the end. Ned took one look at him still shaking next to the trash can in the corner and could tell something was off.

He could admit something was seriously wrong to himself, but he wasn’t ready to admit to anyone else that he couldn’t even handle the basic task of keeping himself properly fed. So he lied.

The nausea from the overindulgence faded quickly, but the ache in his gut from passing it off as food poisoning to his best friend remained for the rest of their trip.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

Peter developed these… episodes at some point. They definitely came after the bite, but he couldn’t pin down a more exact time frame than that, so it was hard to say whether they were a side effect of the mutation or just something that would’ve happened to him regardless.

He’d get dizzy and shaky, and sometimes he’d feel panicked for no discernible reason in the middle of the day. Probably the worst part was that he never felt it coming on early in the day, so he was typically already at school when it began, and all he could do was avoid exerting himself until the feeling went away. If it came on in the morning, it was usually gone by the start of his afternoon classes. If it came in the afternoon, it didn’t let up until after school.

They got more frequent as weeks passed by, but the worst thing that would come out of them was that he sometimes missed some of the lecture notes in class, and Ned was always understanding and lent out his own to copy once he was feeling better. He knew that whatever happened to him was obvious enough for Ned to notice, but no one else ever mentioned it, so it must not be _that_ obvious to the casual observer.

Today was one of those days. He’d woken up late and run to the subway feeling fine, all things considered, but he only made it through a couple of class periods before desks, blackboards, and teachers alike were rocking sickeningly around him. He dealt with it through the remaining morning labs and lectures, but he’d had to duck into the library instead of the cafeteria for lunch, not feeling up to being surrounded by the chatter of five hundred other people while his hearing faded in and out at random and his vision was still stubbornly reminiscent of spinning too quickly in his desk chair for a few seconds too long.

Sleeping through the period had let him escape the discomfort for a while, but they came back partway through his first afternoon class. He had study hall after that, and he was seriously considering heading to the nurse’s office to see if a call from Aunt May would be enough to let him walk home early when MJ plopped down and tossed her backpack onto the table between them.

“Eat,” MJ commanded and punctuated it by sending something small hurtling toward his face. Even on days like this, the spider sense kicked in and let him instinctually catch whatever it was just before it made contact. He pulled it down and found a granola bar.

He debated giving it back, but MJ was glaring like she wouldn’t forgive him for disobeying, and it _was_ just a cheap granola bar. Surely, it wasn’t putting MJ or her family out too much to accept it, so he tore the package open and took a small bite.

MJ’s glare softened, but it was still a glare, so he rushed through eating the rest of the snack until he looked up again and found her looking decidedly less annoyed with him. The shakiness and random fear had abated since she’d joined him. He was grateful it was over.

“Does that happen a lot?” she asked after he tossed the wrapper in a nearby trash can and sat back down.

“Umm… I guess? A couple times a week.” He’d debated lying, but he knew from Ned’s past reactions that it was obvious when it happened. He couldn’t really control the shaking, and even if he could, there was no masking the paleness that came along with it. She probably knew better than he did already, whether he answered honestly or not.

“That’s what my sister is like when she overcorrects with her insulin,” MJ explained. “You’d have mentioned diabetes by now if you had it, so unless you’re hiding that from me, you’re eating so little that your blood sugar is naturally dipping that low.”

His eyes widened as he spluttered, trying to come up with an excuse fast, but nothing was coming to mind and he knew he was looking guiltier by the second.

“Fix it. I’m _not_ above ratting you out if this is an eating disorder or gets worse.”

She pulled out a novel when he didn’t answer right away and went back to her usual routine of kind of ignoring him, kind of watching him. There wasn’t anything left to say to help his case, and now he had yet _another_ problem thrown onto his already full plate. Exactly what he needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final two chapters will be up when my lovely dialogue beta amber474 (Tumblr) has the time to look over them!


	5. Chapter 5

V.

As time went on, Peter got more and more first-hand experience in just how _boring_ it was to stay up late.

It wasn’t like he wanted to be awake. He just… couldn’t sleep. No matter how long he laid in bed, it didn’t happen some nights, especially when he went to bed hungry. He’d read plenty of self-help articles on sleep on the internet, but none of it seemed to help. He tried hot baths, cutting off his screen time early, meditating before bed… everything that sounded even slightly sensible and doable, he’d tried it. On the worst of these nights, those tips didn’t do anything. On the better ones, they let him fall asleep long enough to get in two or three hours.

It wasn’t every night, and it didn’t even seem to follow any kind of pattern. Most of the week, he’d get seven or eight hours and feel reasonably rested. It was the other one or two days that plagued him. He’d been using the extra time to keep up with school work and get in some extra studying for decathlon, but he’d reached a point where he was so far ahead that it was too boring to keep going. He wanted something exciting, something to keep his mind off his stupid random insomnia. He wanted to patrol.

There was no reason not to, right? Sure, ever since Aunt May found out about his after-school activities, she’d set more limits on him, including an early curfew for patrol nights. A glance at his phone showed that she should’ve gone to bed hours ago, so she should be sleeping deep enough now to miss the sound of him crawling out of the apartment and patrolling after hours. From what he could tell, Mr. Stark only checked the Baby Monitor Protocol if he didn’t submit his daily report to Happy; there was no way he’d be watching this late at night when he thought Peter was sleeping. As long as he came back before his alarm was set to wake him up, no one would ever notice he left. He stepped into the suit and pulled on the mask.

“Nope.” Tony’s voice cuts over Karen’s welcoming message just as Peter is slipping out through his bedroom window. There’d been no incoming call to accept, and he leapt a little at the surprise but caught himself on the side of his apartment building before he could fall more than a couple feet. “Teenagers need _more_ than eight hours of sleep, not less. Last I checked, you are, in fact, a teenager, so either get your ass out of the suit and in bed or Aunt Hottie gets a call about you at—” He paused, and Peter wondered why until his voice cut back in. “—two in the morning. What the hell, kid? Two’s pushing it, even for teenage vigilante rebellion.”

“Mr. Staaaaarrrrrk.” He dragged out the name but cringed immediately after when it sounded whiny even to him. “I’m not tired! I’m just going out to see if anyone needs help.”

“So you already slept for eight or more hours?” Tony asked.

“Uhhh, no, but—”

“Then, no,” Tony interrupted. “Like it or not, you’re a kid. You need your sleep, especially if you expect to react quickly enough to handle physical exertion and potential emergencies on patrol.”

“I can’t sleep! Just let me do this!” He was desperate enough to fight Mr. Stark on this. He was sick of sitting at his desk and staring at schoolwork he didn’t _care_ about while his growling stomach tugged at his already non-existent focus.

“Yeah, no,” Tony cut him off. “This is _not_ how you handle insomnia, kiddo.”

Peter didn’t stop to consider his tone before he bit out a frustrated, “Then, how!?”

“Do you even know who you’re talking to, Underoos? I’m the _worst_ possible person you could ask. Just get in bed and count sheep or whatever.”

Peter knew when he wasn’t going to win an argument. Well, not always, but that was beside the point. He knew he wasn’t going to win _this_ argument. He grunted out an, “ugh, fine,” and waited a second to see if Mr. Stark had anything else to add. When the line stayed silent, Peter flipped back into his still open window and took off the suit, less gently than he normally would.

He paced back and forth (and up and down a couple of the walls) for a few minutes until the aggression faded from his stance and he was only left with the boredom from earlier. He considered his replacement homemade suit, but he could still feel his pulse race when he remembered what had happened to the last one and couldn’t bring himself to don it.

There was no way he was going to fall asleep tonight, but at least out of the suit, no one could stalk his sleep schedule. With a restrained huff, he threw himself into his desk chair and gave the next two weeks’ readings for his English class another shot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big thanks to amber474 on Tumblr for helping out with Tony's dialogue in this chapter and the next one!


	6. Chapter 6

+1

It was an “internship weekend,” as Peter had taken to calling them around those not in the know.

Mr. Stark had managed to convince Natasha and Vision to train with him, and it was going to be _awesome_. He was going to get his ass kicked several times over the course of the weekend, but he’d still love every second of it. He could hardly sit still through school, channeling his excited energy into endless leg bounces and finger taps that pulled his attention away from nearly every moment of his morning classes.

The nervous energy caught up with him and backfired midway through the day, so he trusted Ned to give him a head’s up if Flash got too close to their table while he dozed his way through lunch period at the back of the library. His stomach grumbled loudly in protest, but he’d already spent all of this week’s lunch budget anyway and there was no way he could get through three more classes without some sleep. Mr. Stark usually started internship weekends with a sizable after-school snack anyway, so he’d be able to make up for it later. Plus, it was payday, so he’d have money for lunch again on Monday.

He was glad to see the fidgeting was all but vanished after his nap, and he even jotted down some useful notes in physics and English.

He was ready for another nap when Happy parked in the pickup zone, but the driver gave him a weird enough look that he couldn’t bring himself to sleep through the hour-long drive. He’d never seen concern cross Happy’s face. He tried to subtly check his reflection in his phone screen to see if he looked off enough to warrant the expression. Finding nothing of note, he got a head-start on his homework instead, focusing on the worksheets that even his lingering fatigue couldn’t make too difficult to understand. When they pulled up to the compound, he only had a one-page essay and a lab report for chemistry left to do, and it would be no problem to squeeze those in before bed tonight. Even through the tiredness, he was uncontrollably bouncing in his excitement as always when Happy stopped outside the entrance.

At the compound, Peter barely had a chance to race to his bedroom and dump his backpack on the floor before FRIDAY was relaying a message ordering him down to the indoor training level. He would’ve appreciated some downtime for one more quick nap or a bite to eat, but he was well used to Mr. Stark’s rushing during the weekends when he could gather everyone in one place. There were only so many hours in a day and only so many days he could come here, and he _was_ meant to be training to be a future Avenger—“If that’s the path you choose,” Mr. Stark occasionally repeated to him—so he understood the need to _go go go._ Understanding alone couldn’t completely rid him of the stress that sometimes came from these weekends, though. He stepped into the suit in practically no time but straggled long enough to lean against a wall and take a couple slow, deep breaths to calm himself down before he made for the elevator and let FRIDAY automatically route him to the right floor. He thought longingly of the well-stocked kitchen fit to feed what remained of the team several times over, but if he was allowed to sit down for a snack before training, Mr. Stark wouldn’t have been so insistent that he get downstairs. He shook his head in a slightly successful attempt to clear his mind of all things food before the elevator doors slid open.

He found Natasha scrolling through her phone waiting at the edge of one of the larger padded mats in simple black workout gear while Mr. Stark looked engrossed in a thick packet of papers on the far side of the room where the team members _without_ artificially enhanced strength lifted weights sometimes. Vision wasn’t in the room, but he rarely watched the others spar unless he was joining in himself, so that wasn’t a big shock. Knowing the usual schedule, it was easy enough to guess that they’d be doing hand-to-hand while Mr. Stark watched—i.e. looked up every couple minutes before falling back into his work—but Natasha confirmed it aloud anyway.

“Hand-to-hand today! Your defense has been coming along nicely, but your offense still needs a _lot_ of work.” From most people, the statement would be offensive, but there was something charming about being addressed by Black Widow, even when she was flinging minor insults.

Natasha had already warmed up, so Peter only took a few minutes to run through some stretches of his own before joining her on the mat and taking up his starting position. Tony glanced up long enough to call the match to a start, and they were off, each attempting to knock the other down while dodging each other’s attacks.

Things seemed fine, so he was taken aback when his body didn’t deem him worthy of much of a head’s up to what was incoming. One second, he was flipping onto the ceiling to avoid Natasha’s sudden lunge, and the next, he felt suddenly hotter while his vision was near blacking out and dizziness overwhelmed all of his other senses. He started to fall gracelessly back down to the floor without noticing at first. He managed to maneuver his body before too late so his side took the brunt of the force instead of his head, but it still hurt more than anything Natasha had done to him the whole afternoon. He was still too warm, and his head felt… cottony, maybe. It wasn’t a feeling he could easily describe, but definitely not something he was enjoying. He was aware of falling to his knees as he tried to get up once, twice, and then pushing himself back up and regaining his footing on his third attempt. He staggered his way in the direction where he remembered solid ground waiting, but his consciousness faded away before he made it to the edge.

Mr. Stark was hovering uncomfortably close when Peter came to, and that was saying something because Peter wasn’t afraid to admit to himself he was a bit touch-starved and craved human contact more often than not. Right now, however, it was too much. It overwhelmed him to have anyone so close, so he shoved himself off the floor and onto his elbows and scrambled backwards until he had a few feet of space.

Tony looked startled but remained where he was and raised two hands placatingly.

“What was _that_?” he demanded, harsher than he meant if Peter had to guess based on his suddenly softening tone. He took a moment to simply stare at Peter, who ducked his head to avoid eye contact.

“Any injuries I should know about?” A head shake.

“Try any weird drugs recently?” He glared and shook his head no again.

“Still skipping sleep?” It took a second to think back to last night and remember it had been a good night or not, but he’d gotten at least seven hours this time, maybe more. Another shake of his head.

“Are you hungry?” That was the easiest question he’d heard all day.

“Starving,” he answered, voice cracking.

“Okay, we can work with that.” Mr. Stark looked relieved to have somewhere to throw the blame for the situation. He tossed a look Peter couldn’t read from this angle over his shoulder at Natasha. “Can you go grab him something?”

“When did you last eat?” he asked when the elevator doors slid shut and left them alone in the room.

“…breakfast?” He was having trouble sifting through his recent memories so soon after passing out, but he couldn’t think of what he had for lunch, so he must have skipped it. “Oh! I slept through lunch.”

“Probably not the best idea to skip meals with that metabolism, kid.”

Tony must have seen something in his expression because he didn’t drop the topic.

“This _was_ a one-time thing, right?” Peter’s eyes widened. Mr. Stark didn’t need to know about his Peter Parker problems, but how could he _lie_ when the guy was looking right at him? “ _Peter._ Has this happened before?”

He squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he could and nodded.

“Shit. Alright, clearly it’s time for a discussion.”

Peter didn’t answer.

“Kid, can you at least look at me?”

But no, he couldn’t. He couldn’t stand to see Mr. Stark disappointed in him. Why did this have to happen _here_ of all places? He could’ve handled this anywhere else.

“I’m not mad,” Tony said. “Is that what this is about? I’m not angry, just… concerned. You shouldn’t be fainting ten minutes into practice if you’re healthy.”

He sucked in a slow breath and tilted his head back up and over toward Tony, still sitting in the same spot a few feet away. Natasha strolled back in before either could say or do anything. She seemed to pick up on the atmosphere right away when neither of them verbally acknowledged her presence.

“I’ll just leave these here then,” she said while she crouched down to place a serving platter full of sandwiches on the mat. She plucked one from the sizable pile for herself and quietly padded out of the room. The silence thickened in Natasha’s absence while the two struggled to restart the conversation until finally they made accidental eye contact, pulling Tony out of the daze.

“No bullshit,” Tony warned, pushing one of the sandwiches into Peter’s hand and waiting for him to take the first bite. “I may not have a doctorate in biology, but if it’s anything like Steve’s, I know that metabolism of yours has you hungry, what? An hour? Two hours after you eat? No way you didn’t notice you were starving yourself today. Seriously, what’s going on with you?”

“I wasn’t hungry?” Peter tried, but even through the thick feeling that still reigned in his head, he could tell that Tony’s expression was that of a man who wasn’t buying that lie. “Okay, fine. I couldn’t afford to eat today. We have a school lunch budget and I spent the last of it yesterday.”

Peter carefully observed the other man while he spoke, so he saw the shocked disbelief before Tony had a chance to push it back and school his features. It made him apprehensive. This could go one of two ways: he was just so used to having money that he’d never considered an Avenger-in-training might go hungry by necessity and he’d pity Peter, _or_ he’d blame Peter for not coming to him and using him for his money. After all, he could’ve done more to bulk up his diet if he’d really tried. He could’ve taken people up on their hospitality too often and made himself a burden or begged for change or crammed a part-time job into his already jam-packed schedule. None of those had ever _felt_ like options, though.

“And you didn’t think to come to me or May?” Tony sounded more hurt than Peter thought he had a right to be.

“Mr. _Stark_ , I’m not going to put _you_ out of food just because I overestimate the budget sometimes. And May didn’t get her paycheck until this afternoon.”

“Peter, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m a billionaire. As in, I have billions of dollars. Effectively an unlimited amount. You’re not putting me out—nope, no interruptions, I’m talking here—by letting me chip in for food, and even if you were, I would still do it because I care about you. If something’s hurting you, I want to help, no matter what.”

Peter wanted to interrupt again, to tell him that no, he can take care of himself, he doesn’t want to impose, but Tony cut him off as soon as he tried.

“If this is some lower-class pride crap, just cut it out, kiddo. You don’t have to impress me or whatever you’re trying to do here by sacrificing your health. I don’t care about how much money you have; I care about keeping you safe. Now, we’re going to set up a fund for you, and you’re going to be one hundred percent honest with me about your needs. Sound good?”

There was no room for disagreement when Mr. Stark was involved. Peter could see why he was so good with business meetings now. Not trusting himself to speak again, he simply nodded his head and followed Mr. Stark out of the training room.

**Author's Note:**

> As we approach Infinity War, I need some slightly fluffy Tony & Peter to prepare, guys. Also, I don't get to read about MCU Peter dealing with the enhanced metabolism often enough and so this was born. I tried to give you guys a small break from all the emeto fics, I really did, but a scene still slipped itself in there. Oops.
> 
> Shoutout to @amber474 on Tumblr for helping edit Tony's dialogue in the last two parts because he's such a difficult character to write sometimes!
> 
> Final note: someone left a prompt in a comment on another fic and deleted it right afterward. I won't share your name in case you didn't want me to, my dude, but I saved your prompts to use later. :D If anyone wants to anonymously leave sickfic/whump/general hurt/comfort prompts, you're always welcome to send an anon ask at sickficlurker.tumblr.com!


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